Johnlock Ficlets
by MoriartyandHisTardis
Summary: A series of ficlets based on prompt words. Most will be Johnlock.
1. Suit

**Suit**

John heard the smooth purr of engine pulling up beside him. He turned to see a jet black car parked against the pavement next to him. _Mycroft_. He pulled open the door and sank into the plush seats, splitting his time between watching Anthea's speedy texting and staring out of the window at the London scenery. He felt a buzz against his leg and reached into his pocket, pulling his phone out.

_**Where are you? –SH**_

John tapped out informing the detective of his current destination, Mycroft's manor he assumed. Moments later came the reply.

_**Want me to come get you?-SH**_

John smiled at Sherlock's protectiveness; he could just imagine the detective pacing around the flat, cursing his older brother under his breath, for dragging John away. The blogger smiled and replied to Sherlock's text, insisting that he shouldn't worry and would be home soon. The engine cut off and John opened the door, steeping out onto a gravely driveway. John wandered up towards the house, feet crunching on the small stones. When he reached the front door it opened to reveal Mycroft Holmes. The eldest Holmes brother looked impeccable as always but in John's eyes it had always been the younger sibling who had the good looks. The taller man ushered John into the house, whisking him down numerous highly decorated corridors before offering him a cosy looking armchair by the fire.

Mycroft stood opposite the ex-army doctor, surveying him, "Hello, John."

"Mycroft."

"I assume you know why you are here?"

"Actually, I don't."

"Well it has come to my attention that you and my brother are in a relationship." John blushed slightly at Mycroft's words but bristled with annoyance.

"How did you know? We haven't told anyone."

"I have my, ahem, sources." John rolled his eyes at Mycroft's words but allowed the eldest Holmes brother to continue speaking, "Whilst you have been beneficial to my brothers health, I would advise you not to get into any sort of relationship with him. He hasn't been in a relationship before and will most probably hurt you."

John visibly tensed at Mycroft's speech and replied, "Just because it's his first attempt at a relationship, doesn't mean he will make it go wrong. I love your brother and I have done for a long time now. You can't stop how I'm feeling."

"Sherlock doesn't fully understand emotions; he will break your heart just for an experiment."

That was when John lost his rag, he knew he would regret it but in that moment he was so angry, he picked up the mug of, now cold, tea and threw it at Mycroft before storming out of the room.

Mycroft heard the slam of the front door and sighed, trying to remember how to get stains out of his expensive new suit.


	2. Coffee Cup

**Coffee Cup**

Sherlock ran his hands through his tangled hair, causing the curls to become even more of a mess than they usually were. He was sat on the coach in baker street, feet in John's lap, a thick brown folder full of case notes in his left hand and a cup of coffee in his right. He flicked through the notes, absorbing the information at a rate faster than it would have taken John to read the first few paragraphs.

The consulting detective had been working on this case for the past week and as much as John loved the man, it drove him up the wall when Sherlock was in this frame of mind. He would be constantly demanding the smallest things, for example, the other day John had been updating his blog when Sherlock had sent him all the way to Lestrade's office. Just to borrow a pen.

John got so close to disliking the detective on days like that, but he found that it was better than having a bored Sherlock on his hands. That was very difficult indeed.

Sherlock twitched his feet and John began to slowly stroke the bottom of the taller mans legs to calm him down. Sherlock flicked through the case files before sighing. Suddenly he jumped off John, kicking him in the crotch. As John winced in pain, Sherlock set up his microscope and studied something.

A loud exclamation of "Aha!" told John that Sherlock had finally figured out who the murderer was. The dark-haired man strolled over to John, kissing him full on the lips before pulling away and stating that "It was obvious all along".

Sherlock's eyes were sparkling and he picked up his coffee, draining the liquid. John stretched upwards, kissing Sherlock again, pushing his tongue into Sherlock's mouth. The shock caused Sherlock to drop his drink but he was too distracted to pick up the discarded coffee cup.


	3. Eyeball

**Eyeball**

**AN: This shit is probably going to be sad and twisted. **

He was running.

His feet were pounding against the wet concrete making a loud slapping sound. John could hear his attacker getting closer. He could almost feel his breath on the back f his neck. He could hear the man's heartbeat. He could feel the man grabbing his collar and spinning him round, throwing him on the floor in one fluid motion.

John looked up into the face of his attacker, blinking furiously as the rain ran down his face. The tall man loomed over him and John knew who he was immediately. Sebastian Moran. One of the scariest and deadly men in the country. Probably the scariest now that his master, Moriarty, was dead.

John knew why the tall man was here, he wanted revenge. An eye for an eye. Sherlock had meant the death of his closest friend and he wanted revenge. He wanted to kill John.

Then, before he knew what was happening, John was running away, veering round corners, ducking and dodging obstacles. He had never run so fast in his life. Strangely enough he found that he wasn't being chased. He turned and looked back down the alleyway, scanning the damp street for the face of his main enemy. When it happened, he wasn't expecting it. He looked up to see the falling body of Moran land on the ground next to him. He had landed on his feet and was ready to punch John in the face. The shorter man fell to the ground, blood pouring down his chin.

The tall man slithered over to him, a twisted smile contorting his face. The evil man held out his clenched hand and opened his fist. Inside it was an eyeball. John recognised it though, It was Sherlock's eye.

_An eye for an eye._

Suddenly the eye blinked; skin stretching downwards to cover the whole eye. It opened again then blinked. John screamed. The tears poured down his face, mixing with the rain and blood. That was when he noticed Sebastian held a knife in his other hand and was advancing towards him. Filled with terror, the doctor scrambled backwards on his hands and knees, feeling the wall behind him.

The evil man raised the knife to his own eye, plunging it deep into the soft skin around it. Slowly and screaming silently his whole eye was removed. He placed it next to Sherlock's and pulled one out of his pocket, Moriarty's.

"You next, Doctor Watson." He drawled, creeping closer to John. He shook his head and screamed, frantically trying to avoid the point of the knife. He felt it come close to his, he was going to lose his eyes, the pain was too much for him, it was the en-

John sat up, drenched in icy cold water. Shivering, he reached his hand up to clutch at the skin around his eye. It was all there. He breathed a sigh of relief and then turned to see Sherlock, staring back at him, with a gaping hole where one eye should be.

John's eyes flew open and he threw himself at the sleeping detective next to him. Sherlock sat up and pulled John close to him, stroking his forehead not understanding why John was crying about some nightmare involving an eyeball.


	4. Small African Drum

_**Small African Drum**_

_**AN: Trust my friend Carys to come up with the most annoyingly awkward prompt object-y thing ever… *sigh … But here we go.**_

Around 221B Baker Street there are a collection of strange things, a microscope on the kitchen table, a human head in the fridge and a skull on the mantelpiece.

There are some things that make the place homely like the two chairs that sit facing each other, the well paced upon rug and the bullet holes in the wall.

There are some things that are undoubtedly Sherlock's, the skull for one but also the stacks of brown folders that are solved or unsolved cases.

Other things in that flat are John's for example, his laptop that Sherlock isn't allowed on, under any circumstances, along with other things from his old life. His cane that he now never needs and his pistol that lives in his underwear drawer.

There are objects from their travels. Postcards from far distant places litter the kitchen side, some may be from John, others from Sherlock but the recipient of the cards must have felt so lonely they didn't throw them in the bin, instead left them on the side where they would be constantly reminded of their lover.

A strange throw is draped over the blanket, a present from Molly and Lestrade when they went gallivanting off around Asia, it doesn't really fit with the rest of the flats décor but John felt it fit to place the throw neatly over the back of the sofa.

In the far corner of the living room, on top of the television there sits some little statues, birds and farm animals that were brought back for them by Mrs Hudson when she went to visit her friend who lived out in the countryside.

Next to the sofa there sits a strange instrument. It is decorated up its sides and looks more expensive than it actually was. It is John and Sherlock's favourite thing in the flat because it reminds them both of when they went travelling. They went around Africa, going on a safari and talking to hundreds of different people about their lives. They had picked the instrument up at a little street market and they had chosen it together. The small instrument was so unobvious that it fits perfectly by the sofa, meaning that only Sherlock and John ever notice it. The small thing that symbolises so much, is a small African drum.


	5. Shattered Bedside Lamp

**Shattered Bedside Lamp**

John walked into the flat and was immediately hit by the stench of blood.

The living room seemed fine but he could see a few drops on the carpet, leading towards Sherlock's bedroom. Oh god, _Sherlock._

John sprinted through to the detective's bedroom, dreading what he would find there. He wasn't expecting the curled up body of an attacker, blocking the doorway. With a grunt, he shoved the door open and stepped into the room. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in the side of his head and staggered backwards, glass raining down on his clothes.

The raven-haired detective stepped out of the corner of the dimly lit bedroom, a shattered bedside lamp clenched in his hands.

"Jesus, Sherlock." John seethed, touching the back of his head. Sherlock smiled, apologetically before a few tears dripped down his cheek. He sunk to the floor, staring at John with wide eyes. The ex-army doctor had never seen the detective look so vulnerable and scared. John bent down and pulled the shivering detective to his chest, stroking his hair comfortingly.

He bent down and kissed Sherlock on the forehead.

"Its okay, Sherlock. I'm here." He whispered to the detective, peeling the shattered bedside lamp out of his fingers.


	6. Blood

**Blood**

_**AN: I could have gone the obvious route for this word and wrote about somebody's blood, however I decided to use it more as a descriptive colour. **_

Sherlock stepped into the house, shaking the snow out of his hair, teeth chattering slightly from the cold. John pushed a warm cup of coffee into the detective's cold hands and guided him over to the sofa, wrapping him in a thick fleecy blanket. John sat down on the sofa, next to Sherlock and flicked on the TV. A crappy quiz show came up and John had fun watching Sherlock guess which answer each contestant would pick. The ex-army doctor taught Sherlock a few general knowledge facts and they had a bit of light banter.

The snow eventually melted into Sherlock's hair, dripping water down the back of his neck. When an icy cold droplet splashed the top of his spine he shivered involuntary. John pulled the detective into a tight embrace, feeling Sherlock's warm breath on his cheek. When they pulled apart John pressed a light kiss onto Sherlock's chapped lips. The detective opened his eyes slightly wider but on feeling John's hands tangle in his hair, he gave a small moan of pleasure and scooted closer. The older man, having more experience in these matters, deepened the kiss, tracing the curve of Sherlock's bottom lip with his tongue. The consulting detective let out a strangled sort of moan and placed his hands, rather awkwardly, on John's hips. John moved one hand out of Sherlock's hair, placing it on the small of Sherlock's back, pulling them together. Sherlock felt John's tongue enter his mouth and allowed the blond man to take even more control. All the detective could feel was John, all he could smell was John and all he could taste was John. He could feel the warmth of the shorter man everywhere and it made him feel safe and secure.

Slowly they pulled apart. John had never felt so relaxed and accomplished. The consulting detective was pleased with what had happened but startled all the same. His brain was running at twice its normal speed, trying to process everything that had happened in the last few minutes.

Sherlock decided he could do one of two things.

1: He could run into his room and hide. Whilst hiding in his room he could formulate a plan of how to deal with the situation.

2: Or he could talk to John, ask him what he was doing and try to figure out his feelings.

Unfortunately for him, John's smile wavered and he looked on the brink of tears, so Sherlock decided to go for the unwritten option 3: _Kiss John_.

The raven-haired detective lightly pressed his lips to John's before pulling away and smiling. The taller man shifted himself so that he was partially lying across John who was playing with his hair, twisting the dark curls around his fingers.

This was how they stayed for a while so when Lestrade walked into the flat, case files for Sherlock tucked under his arm, he didn't expect John to be leaning down, kissing Sherlock. Greg coughed and then looked at the floor, giving them some privacy. As they broke apart John began blush and Sherlock chuckled at his bloggers red cheeks that were as bright as blood.


	7. Telephone

**Telephone**

**AN: I'm sorry it's been a while since I updated. I get my prompt words off my friends but I would LOVE it if you readers gave me prompt words too:) Just pop me a prompt word/few words and I'll write it:)**

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><p>John sat in his armchair, staring sullenly at the skull on the mantelpiece. His head was bowed against some invisible force and he hunched forwards shoulders slumped, face streaked with sadness. He always knew that today would be a bad day; it was a 'danger date' as his therapist put it. 3 years today. 3 years since he had lost his best friend.<p>

3 years since Sherlock Holmes had killed himself.

Every time John thought about that day he felt a pounding in the back of his head and tears usually leaked onto his cheeks. Usually he revisited that day in his nightmares so it was a strange occurrence for him to have flashbacks during the day. His breathing became deeper and he desperately begged Sherlock not to jump. To stay with him. But every time he woke up screaming at the dead body of the world's only consulting detective. The fact that it was light didn't alter the ending of the flashbacks.

He sat up, drenched in sweat and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He fished it out and stared at the screen in disbelief.

1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Sherlock

Trembling with fear and sadness he opened the text.

**I'M ALIVE JOHN.**

The ex-army doctor viewed the text, staring at the phone as if it was going to explode. He began to shake with anger. Why would somebody do this? He tapped out a quick reply.

_THIS IS A REALLY SICK JOKE. WHO THE HELL ARE YOU? _

Within a minute there was a reply.

**IT'S ME JOHN. **

He considered throwing the phone at the wall because Sherlock was dead. His best friend was dead. His best friend was no more than another body in the ground. Some bloodstains on the floor. John had watched him jump. He had seen Sherlock die. Filled with anger he threw the mobile at the wall and watched it smash into tiny pieces.

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. John ignored it.

They knocked again.

Then the sharp tone of the telephone caused John to turn his head. He reached out and pulled the phone to his ear. "Open the door, John." said the all too familiar voice of his dead best friend. Filled with fear and a glimmer of hope he walked into the hall and opened the door. There, framed perfectly by the evening London light, stood Sherlock Holmes.

John felt himself smile before remembering "You left me alone for 3 years!" he said, smacking Sherlock, not to violently with the nearest weapon he could reach. The telephone.


	8. Bacon

**AN: Okay guys, it's a short one. I wrote this at half 1 in the morning so sorry if there are spelling/grammar errors. There shouldn't be any spelling errors- iPhone autocorrect (although it's not the most reliable thing ever) :D I have four more written up so I'll be posting them over the next few days. As alwaysreviews are much appreciated and Prompts would be really really helpful.**

**Erin:)**

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><p><strong><em>Prompt by: The Timelord's Consultant<em>**

_Bacon:_

John woke up earlier than usual and rolled over to find a dip in the mattress where Sherlock had been sleeping. He reached out with his left hand and pulled the detective's pillow towards him, pressing his face into the soft white cushion. He inhaled deeply, letting the rich smell of coffee dance around in his nose. John placed Sherlock's pillow back onto the bed and sat up, stretching his arms and rolling his neck with a satisfying click. He heard the door open and pair of bare feet pad across the light coloured wooden floor. John looked up to see his favourite consulting detective standing by the bed,arms folded over his chest,dressing gown wrapped loosely around his athletic torso. The tall man flashed John a genuine smile and bent down, placing his arms on the bed, to kiss John on the lips. The blogger smiled happily as they pulled apart and met Sherlock's beautiful eyes. The dark haired man swiftly stood up and stalked out of the room. John clambered out of the warm and comfortable bed, pulling on a jumper and jeans. He opened the door and stepped out into the kitchen,not expecting a delicious smell to waft over him and dance around his nostrils. He looked over to the cooker to see his partner of three months expertly creating an array of mouthwatering breakfast options. There was a full English breakfast:beans,tomatoes,eggs,sausages and bacon as well as cereal and fruit. John turned to Sherlock,surprise filling his face.

"What's all this for?" John asked,piling his plate with food.

"I wanted to surprise you," Sherlock said, "I wanted to show you how much I care about you and I know how much you love your full English breakfast,especially bacon."

"Oh,Sherlock," John said capturing the detective's lips in his. "Thankyou. And for the record, I love you more than I love bacon."


	9. Born

**AN: Hello:) This one is a bit more rude.. than others. It is more passionate even though I don't usually write Johnlock like this. I just wanted to try it and test my abilities. It's not particulary graphic there's just some heavy snogging and some shirtless-ness. So quite mundane compared to some of the fanfictions I've read:3**

**You don't have to read it if you don't want to. I don't want anyone to read anything they are uncomfortable with. **

**Erin:)**

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><p><em>Born:<em>

John and Sherlock were having one of those days. Those days where everything the other does is incredibly sexy. Sherlock biting the end of a pen as he works nearly causes John to jump on him. Then when John is eating a banana it takes all of the dark haired man's self restraint to stop him from dragging John over to him and kissing him. They are both avoiding touching each other because they both know that if they start anything they won't be able to stop. Neither of them wants to do anything.. sexual yet as it would be Sherlock's first time and John didn't feel completely comfortable with the idea of sleeping with another man.

He was used to 'being in charge' in the bedroom when he slept with women and he didn't know how Sherlock would react to his dominance.

Also because it would be Sherlock's first time John wanted it to be somewhat romantic. Sherlock didn't care for sentiment but John wanted his flat mate to lose his virginity in a nice way, not some drunken sex in the back of a van like what had happened to him.

Sherlock didn't really want to have sex at the moment, he had told John and said that of John had a problem with his decision he wouldn't mind breaking up with him. John had just laughed and kissed Sherlock's nose saying that he didn't care whether they would have sex or not.

How wrong the ex-army doctor had been. Right now, while Sherlock tantalising nibbles the end of his pen John can't imagine anything more fulfilling than having sex with his beautiful boyfriend.

But he waits and holds it in because Sherlock doesn't want to have sex.

However as strong willed as both of them are they do end up kissing. They fall onto the sofa, kissing passionately, tangling together into one big ball of John-and-Sherlock. The shorter man runs his hands through the detectives hair, rolling on top of him. Sherlock pulls John's head forward, filling any space with John's warmth. All they could feel was each other. John's taste on Sherlock's tongue, Sherlock's scent invading John's nose. Their heavy breathing filling each other's ears. John slips out of his shirt, unbuttoning Sherlock's to run his hands across his detectives muscly chest. The dark haired man moans slightly, pulling away from the kiss and biting John's neck.

Then a loud ring interrupts their moment. John groans and grabs his phone. Lestrade.

"Hello-oo." He says, voice going up at the end because Sherlock has began to kiss up and down his chest. The dark haired man looks up at John, smirking, enjoying John's embarrassment as he tries desperately to talk to Lestrade without making strange noises.

As he hangs up he snacks Sherlock lightly in the chest, rolling off him and pulling his shirt back on. The tall, dark haired detective stayed on the couch, looking puzzled.

"We've got a case." John said, throwing Sherlock his coat. The dark haired man grumbled and began to slowly button up his shirt, cursing Lestrade for ever being born.


	10. Cage

**AN: Hullo everybody. This is a kidlock:D I had fun writing this one and hopefully I'll do some more! I know its a wierd fear to have.. monkeys but I think Sherlock would have a really random fear. **

**So my young Sherlock is afraid of monkeys. **

**Note: There is some rude language at the end...(p.s. I hate the guy that said it, I was tempted to make him fall in a crocodile pit or something..)**

**I like to eat reviews and prompts for breakfast so please don't let me go hungry.**

**Erin:3**

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><p><em><strong>Prompt by: JumpersandKittens (Rhianna)<strong>_

_Cage:_

John Hamish Watson is proud to say that there is only one thing he is afraid of. Spiders. Just thinking about those creepy Arachnids sends chills running through his eleven year old mind. Blood, guts, horror films, gore, Sharks, snakes. All of those things he can handle, but not spiders. He's never liked spiders.

This is the first thing Sherlock finds out about John. The second thing he finds out is that John hates being alone. The third thing he figures out is that John Watson is interesting. More interesting than any of the other boring boys in their class.

Sherlock discovers all of this on his first day at John's school.

Sherlock says that he isn't afraid of anything but John knows that isn't true. Everybody has a fear. Sherlock declares himself fearless but not in the proud way that a show off boy may boast to the rest of his friends, Sherlock says it as a fact. A statement.

John does find one thing that Sherlock is afraid of though. Monkeys. It is the most irrational fear John has ever heard of, but that's Sherlock Holmes for you, he's never ordinary. Having a fear of snakes or spiders or the dark would be too mundane for John's friend.

John discovers Sherlock's fear on a school trip to the zoo. The boys were allowed to split off in pairs and explore the zoo on their own. John and Sherlock headed off towards the ape area. Sherlock seemed happy, he was laughing and smiling, taking the mickey out of john's fear of spiders. They entered the ape area and Sherlock seemed fine, until a monkey screamed loudly and threw itself at the metal bars of the cage. Sherlock screamed and skittered backwards, slamming into the wall and sinking to the floor.

"Sherlock?" John asked, stepping towards his friend. He offered his hand out but Sherlock shook his head, whimpering slightly.

"I would guess, due to my extreme reaction, I have a fear of monkeys." Sherlock said, voice trembling. John chuckled slightly, pulling his shaking friend into a tight, warm hug. The taller boy gladly embraced his friend, pressing his face into John's neck. He inhaled John's shampoo and chocolate scent and felt himself calm down.

"Monkeys.." John said, chuckling quietly, "Really Sherlock?" the dark haired boy looked up and met John's eyes, scowling, until his best friend tapped the tip of his nose with his finger. They both smiled at one another until a loud, rowdy male yelled "Get a room, fags!" and threw an empty water bottle at them.

The two eleven year olds had no idea what he was talking about but both knew enough to understand that he was insulting them. John glared at the man and Sherlock whispered in his short best friend's ear, "I wish I could put him in a cage."


	11. Perfect

**AN: I know this _technically_ doesn't fit here but it was to short to be a free standing one shot I think and they do discuss John and Sherlock. For about 2 lines. But anyway... everybody needs some Golly. Me included:D **

**If you don't ship it, you don't have to read it but don't hate, appreciate:)**

**I just wanted to write some Golly/ Hoopstrade (whatever you want to call it)**

**I love you all like Sherly loves Jawn..**

**Prompts are always welcme:)**

**Erin:D**

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><p><em>Perfect:<em>

Lunchtime came quickly for Molly. She anxiously added a touch of lipstick and tried to neaten her hair before leaving the morgue and dropping her lab coat back on the peg in the cloakroom. She pulled on her cardigan and stepped out into the pleasantly warm London street. Walking as fast as she could without looking stupid, she headed towards the small but nice park that sat, tucked away in a secluded part of central London.

She entered the park, tapping the dark, wrought iron gates for luck (a childhood tradition of hers) and wandered past the small lake. Under a clump of trees sat DI Lestrade with a huge and delicious picnic spread around on the grass near him.

"All for you." he said, kindly, standing up and kissing Molly's cheek. She blushed furiously and took his hand,sitting cross-legged on the red tartan picnic blanket.

They quietly conversed about work, home and family whilst they ate their way through all of Lestrade's feast. Molly slipped into a natural state of happiness and found herself smiling at the most random moments. Lestrade felt loved. His wife had always been cheating on him or leaving him for days on end so it was a nice feeling to have a lovely lady like Molly care about him.

"Did you hear about John and Sherlock?" The detective inspector asked, picking at a sausage roll.

"I did, I'm happy for them."

"Me too. I'm glad they finally got together, the sexual tension at the crime scenes was almost too much." They both chuckled, remembering John and Sherlock's tense conversations and brief touches. "Honestly, if I were John, I'd have jumped on him. Sherlock I mean."

"Well, I know how he felt." Molly said, sighing unhappily. Greg took her hands in his and met her eyes.

"Personally, I think that Sherlock lost out big time when he rejected you."

Molly smiled happily and blushing bright crimson, pressed her lips to Greg's lightly. He took her face in his hands and ran his fingers through her soft hair. They broke apart and stared at each other, both flushed a pinkish colour.

Molly felt a faint splatter of rain drop onto her cheek and before she could warn Lestrade, the heavens opened, drenching them both.

Greg laughed, standing up, pulling Molly with him. They crashed their lips together and Molly shivered, not just because of the cold rain. Lestrade pulled back after a few minutes and shook his wet hair out of his face.

"Come on, Molly, help me clear up this this ruined picnic stuff and maybe we could fix this messed up date." Molly grabbed the blanket in her soaked arms and turned to Greg.

" The date wasn't ruined. It was perfect."


	12. Easter

**AN: This is another Kidlock:D I really really love this one. I made John believe in the easter bunny up until he met Sherlock because I thought it would be damn cute! **

**P.S. I'm addicted to reviews and prompts like John is to jam... :3**

**Erin:D**

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><p><em>Easter:<em>

It was the holidays and seven year old John Watson was very excited. It was the best holiday of the year in his opinion because of the vast amounts of chocolate presented to him each year.

Last year his mummy had bough him a large chocolate bunny and two small Easter eggs. Harriet had bought him a medium sized smarties Easter egg that made him squeal with joy. His class teacher had granted each child with a creme egg or a small chocolate bar and an old relative had sent him a large Easter egg to enjoy. As well as all of his own chocolate John often gets a large amount of his older sister's because she's a teenager and she doesn't want to be fat. And according to Harriet chocolate makes you spotty.

Another reason why john loved easter was the Easter bunny. John believed in this happy bunny with furious determination, daring any boy to prove him wrong and give him proof that the bunny didn't exist.

Only one boy could convince John that the Easter bunny didn't exist and that boy was Sherlock Holmes.

They were the best of friends,always together, joined at the hip. John's mother looked upon them fondly, seeing their blossoming friendship as a blessing. Finally there was a boy as stubborn as John who would tell him that he was wrong every now and again. Mrs Watson was incredibly fond of Sherlock. His manners were impeccable and he had natural intelligence. Mrs Holmes however didn't seem to relish the young boy's friendship. She saw John as an obstacle that could stop Sherlock being at his best. But she but her tongue and sullenly watched the boys become closer friends, feeling glad that even though John could be ruining Sherlock's potential, he was making him happy.

Easter Sunday struck again and John was loaded with chocolate,having received a huge pile of his own and all of Harriet's eggs. On a sugar high John called Sherlock and invited him to stay the night,adding that he should bring his Easter eggs with him. John was appalled when he found out that Sherlock didn't have any eggs. At all.

So when the young,dark haired boy arrived at the Watson household John dragged him upstairs and guest urged to his large pile of chocolate.

"Take whatever you like." the short boy said,contentedly sitting cross-legged on the carpet,gnawing at a piece of Easter egg.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, running a hand through his dishevelled curls staring eagerly and hesitantly at the pile.

"Of course, Sherlock. You're my best friend. You don't have any of your own so you can share mine."

Sherlock jumped forward, spontaneously hugging his short,blond best friend. He stepped back and picked up some chocolate.

Over the course of the afternoon and evening the two boys managed to eat almost all of John's supply of Easter eggs. John didn't mind because he was spending time with his best friend and Sherlock decided that he really did like Easter.


	13. Oak Tree

**AN: Hello there my darlings:) This will be my last update till wednesday... I'm off on holiday to the Lakes tommorow. A lovely place where we have no internet! YAY -_-**

**Anyway, this is a sad'un methinks. Some people feel sad and make sad edits of sad programmes that make them sad... Me- I just write (probably rubbish) fanfiction/oneshots.**

**So here it is, my sadness expressed as a reichenbach drabble thing... **

**Grab yourself a tissue, strap your seatbelts in and hold on. It's a tear jerker. **

**P.S. Merthurr/Jade I'm going to attempt to write drabbles for all of the prompt words you suggested. I'll try and get a few of them done over my holidays:)**

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><p><strong><em>Prompt by: Sepiasinopia<em>**

_Oak Tree:_

The rain tumbled from the dark, stormy sky that was full of clouds, stretching along the horizon, obscuring any blue sky that might be hiding. Doctor John Watson pulled his coat hood tighter around his chin as he trudged down the soaking London streets. He barely had to concentrate doing this journey, it was a well-worn route in his unhappy brain. His feet led him to the cemetery gates without him having to make any effort. Mrs Hudson had asked if he wanted a taxi but he knew that he had to make this trip on foot. It just felt right.

He slowly limped up the slight hill and rounded the side of the once attractive church. He continued on his journey, heading towards a plain black marble headstone with gold writing. John slowed down and stopped right in front of the headstone. He opened his mouth and words began to fall out.

"Hi again, Sherlock. It's me again. I'm here most days. Some days I can't get out of the surgery early enough to get down here before the gates close. I snuck in though, that one time. I was desperate. I needed to see you-talk to you. Well... Your gravestone. Is it sad that this is the only way I can contact you now, Sherlock? The great consulting detective, the one and only Sherlock Holmes is dead.

"My therapist keeps reminding me of this. He's dead John, he's not coming back, she says. I must believe her otherwise I'd be out looking for you. You are dead. You are. It's funny-well it's not really- but sometimes I see people who could be you. I see the scarf. The long coat that used to flap around your ankles when you paced angrily. Your curly, dark hair like raven wings. Your tall cheekbones. You. I see you in all the things I do. Is that weird Sherlock? Is it? I'm the doctor, I should know. But I don't deal with matters of the heart. That's what this is. A matter of the heart.

"I've said it before, but I'll say it again… I love you Sherlock. I bloody well love you. But I never told you because…. Jesus, I never told you because you're a machine. The first time we were 'out together' you told me you were married to your work. I said I wasn't bothered, I wasn't interested. I wasn't… then…

"But I am now, Sherlock. From the second I saw you on that roof, I realised how I felt. By then it was too late.. You jumped and you left me all alone in the dark. It's dark here Sherlock, It's dark without you. All the colours are muted, dulled without you by my side. I hate it, dammit, I hate this. All of it. The standing around and talking to a headstone instead of talking to you.

"Lestrade gets me cases every now and again. I may not be as good as you are-were but I'm better than some of his men. I've picked some things up from you. I ask for payment though. I never understood how you could afford to not ask for money. I sometimes felt like I was supporting a family.

"You were childlike sometimes Sherlock. Not eating for days, 'being bored' whenever there wasn't a case. You were really irritating on those days Sherlock but I wouldn't change any of it for the world. I would accept you to be bored everyday if you came back to me. I would prefer that over this loneliness. This nothingness that should be you.

"I feel the same as how I did when I got sent back from Afghanistan. Get up, work, blog, go to sleep. The same routine, day in, day out. There's no you to make it interesting. There's no getting up at 6.00am because you need me to go out and get something for your experiment. There's no violin at god knows what time of the night. No wacky experiments taking up our kitchen. No body parts clogging up our fridge.

"I miss it. I miss you.

"It's a special day today, Sherlock. I would've brought flowers but sentiment was never your thing… It's been three years. Three whole years, would you believe it? They've dragged on, I can assure you. Sometimes it felt like there was no point in carrying on. Like I should just give up and stay in bed. I made myself keep going. I forced myself to eat, to sleep, to work.

"I've got to go. Mrs Hudson is making Shepherds Pie for dinner. She's worried about me, her and Lestrade. It's been three years, they say, you should try and move on. But how can I? When all I have left is this hope. This hope that you could still be alive. Even my hope is dying. You are a bloody genius Sherlock, you're smart enough to have survived.

"I love you, Sherlock. I truly do."

With that, the broken ex-army doctor walked away, shielding his face from the worst of the rain, wiping the overflowing tears with his left hand. He didn't turn around but if he had he would've seen the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes standing in the shade of some towering trees, away from the rain.

Maybe he would have wondered why there was water dripping down the detective's face seen as though he was protected from the brewing storm.

When John said matters of the heart it should have been plural. Because Sherlock Holmes felt the same longing that John experienced. The consulting detective needed John too.

He had assured Moriarty that he didn't have a heart but he now knew, as the consulting criminal always had, that he had lied. How could he say he didn't have a heart when he felt it breaking every time he saw John like this?

Filled with grief, self-loathing and sadness Sherlock leant back against a sturdy old oak tree.


	14. Mattress

**_AN: Hello my lovely darlings:D I just want to say thankyou very very very much to anyone who has reviewed this story. If you have then you are a beautiful human, if you haven't..why not? ;) I joke, I joke. Okay and from now on I will be writing these drabbles on my iPhone generally when I'm in bed or travelling or have spare time which means that these drabbles aren't really checked properly. S any mistakes are my own and I'm really sorry if there are any._**

**_Part of this drabble is text so italics are John's texts, bold are Sherlock's. _**

**_Prompt word from: Merthurr/ Jade:) (P.S I am determined to do as many of the prompts as I can!)_**

**_Enjoy:3  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong>Mattress:<strong>_  
><em>

_Sherlock._

**Yes, John. SH**

_What happened?_

**To what? SH  
><strong>  
><em>Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!<em>

**What are you talking about John? SH**

_My bed! Where did it go?_

**Oh, that.. SH**

_Sherlock!_  
><strong><br>It was an experiment. SH  
><strong>  
><em>About what?<em>

**That's irrelevant. SH**

_Where am I going to sleep?  
><em>  
><strong>You can stay in my bed. SH<strong>

_What?_

**You can stay in my bed. I thought I had made that perfectly clear. SH**

_Really?_

**Yes John. SH  
><strong>  
><em>You wouldn't mind me sharing your bed?<em>

Sherlock pondered the text for a few moments. He was travelling back across London after unsuccessfully trying to capture a thief. The cab was moving slowly, weaving steadily through the traffic and the rocking motion of the car was nearly lulling his to sleep.

What could he say? Of course he wanted John to stay in his bed. He had inexplicably been drawn to the ex-army doctor since the day he met him. Only now did he realise why that was. He loved John. If he was going to love anybody it would have been John. There was no one else. He knew his affections would not be returned as John was a straight man who spent all his time chasing after women who would never return his feelings. He would not fall for a high functioning sociopath over a well dressed blonde with a curvy body.

He could reply with 'I would love for you to share my bed.' But then John would know his true feelings and their friendship would never be the same. The doctor might hate him and move out leaving Sherlock alone and vulnerable to the drugs he has kept clear of for the past year or so.

**It would be necessary. SH**

The detective sighed and pressed send, upset with himself for not being truthful with his feelings. He fell into his mind palace easily, going in there to escape the mess he was currently in.

_Well, okay then. I'll move my duvet over._

Sherlock.

**  
>Yes John. SH<strong>

_Where is my duvet._

**Part of the experiment. SH  
><strong>  
>There was, of course, no such experiment. Sherlock merely felt that if he couldn't share his feelings he could at least prompt John into feeling the same. Or do something to make him feel better about himself. Then the idea of getting rid of John's bed so that they would have to share came to him. This way he got to act on his feelings without John knowing.<p>

It was a poor substitute for a relationship but it was the best that the consulting detective got.

_What experiment Sherlock!_

**An important one. SH**  
><em><br>Bloody hell Sherlock! And will you stop putting your damn initials. I know who you are for gods sake!  
><em> **  
>I'm sorry John.<br>**  
><em>It's okay. Where are you?<em>  
><strong><br>Two streets away.**

After a minute the cab pulled up outside 221B. Sherlock thanked and paid the cabbie, hurrying into the flat, pulling his scarf tight, insulating himself from the cold London night. He stumbled through the front door and clambered up the stairs, dramatically opening the door to 221B. Sherlock threw himself down onto the soda, curling into his coat, slipping into his mind palace to decide what the best way to deal with the night's events was.

When he emerged an hour later John was sat in his armchair, newspaper spread out on his knees, mug of tea warm in his hand. He lifted his head when heard Sherlock's grumbling and nodded towards the steaming cup of tea on the coffee table.

"Freshly brewed." He said, looking back at his newspaper.

The clock strikes eleven and John rises, folding up the newspaper.  
>"I'm off to bed."<p>

"I'll join you." Sherlock says, sliding off the sofa. They both make their way to Sherlock's room, not attempting any conversation. John throws himself on the bed, keeping to one side of it. Sherlock stays standing and begins to unbutton his shirt. The ex army looks up to see the soft material slide down the consulting detective's muscled back. John gulps quietly, fighting a groan as he feels the blood rush to his face and... somewhere else...

The detective turns to John and the doctor swears he can hear his own heartbeat speed up. He is sure Sherlock can hear it too. In a flash Sherlock is in his boxers and before John can give him the once over he has dived under the covers, switching off the light in the process. Concealed in the darkness John pulls off his shirt, jumper and trousers, leaving only his boxers. He snuggles down and is close to sleep when he feels something icy cold press against his stomach. He flinches before he realises that it's Sherlock's back. John leans into Sherlock, throwing his left arm around the detective's body, feeling an exposed hip bone press into his elbow. The two men sigh happily and fall into a deep sleep.

The morning dawns, light and warm, breathing life over the dilapidated London houses. John wakes up first and slides away from Sherlock, careful not to wake the consulting detective who never seems to get enough sleep. He clambers out of the bed pulling on a jumper. The ex-army doctor stands over Sherlock watching the detective sleep. He looks so vulnerable, like a child, all the sarcasm and smart-arseness had wiped straight off his face leaving behind a fresh and beautiful Sherlock.

John chuckles at his sentiment and spontaneously leans down and presses his lips to Sherlock's cheek. He slowly strokes his hand through the detective's rumpled curls.

"I really do love you." John breathes, pulling away, feeling glad that Sherlock is sleeping. If the detective were awake he would probably just scoff at him. The ex-army doctor leaves the bedroom, holding back tears as he brews his tea.

Sherlock's eyes burst open as he let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding. He had been awake the whole time.

'John loves me' was the only coherent thought that ran through his head as he rolls over inhaling the scent of John that clings to his mattress.


	15. Pain

**AN: Hello everybody:) I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while but if it makes you feel better I have been writing ficlets! So yay! I'm in a really good mood today so this angsty-ness doesn't fit how I'm feeling. But a prompt is a prompt and I already had this one written up:)**

**It's not the longest but its not the shortest:)**

**I love reviews like Mycroft loves cake:D (and prompts, prompts are good too)**

**Erin:)**

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><p><em><strong>Prompt by: Merthurr<strong>_

_Pain:_

I could feel my feet protesting as I repeatedly slammed them into the hard ground. My throat ached from lack of hydration and a stitch burned in my side. I kept my eyes on the consulting detective sprinting in front of me. Then my gaze flickered to the shady figure darting around the corner. I knew we had to catch the guy, if we didn't more children would die, so I pushed myself forwards, catching up with Sherlock. We ran round the corner, feet pounding in synchronisation and our breath came out in gasping pants. I blindly reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand as we kept pace behind the criminal. Suddenly the man disappeared into the dark London night. We carried on running, hoping that the man had tripped and fallen. I was so focused on the man that at first I didn't hear the little click that could only mean one thing. A loaded gun.

I pulled Sherlock to a stop and frantically looked around, feeling my leg buckle and the ghost of pain shoot through my shoulder. I could almost feel the sand against my back as I fought back a yell. It came out as a pained gasp. Sherlock turned to me, blue eyes wide and grabbed my arm tightly. His lips were moving but I couldn't register what he was saying. Suddenly a shot rang out and I dropped automatically pulling Sherlock down with me. I heard the shatter of glass and the streetlight went out leaving us in the blackness, listening intently to the tinkle of the glass as it landed on the ground. My eyes began to slowly adjust to the gloom and I saw the barrell of a gun peep out from the shadows. Yelling his name I pushed Sherlock out of the way and felt the bullet rip through my arm. Screaming in agony I fell to the floor, twisting so that I wouldn't land on my injured arm. Sherlock crawled over to me and grasped my face with his trembling hands.

"John." He croaked, peeling the sleeve on my blood soaked shirt. It must have been bad because Sherlock, the man who whipped bodies and used severed heads in experiments, went ghostly white and looked like he would throw up.

"Has he gone." I coughed, trying desperately to fight the waves of blackness that tried to pull me into unconsciousness. The pain seared through my arm spreading like fire as I felt the sensation burn my shoulder and leg.

"Yes." Sherlock said, sorrow clouding his features. I felt a drizzle of water spit onto my body and I hissed as the water splattered painfully against the gunshot wound. The liquid dripped across my body chilling me to the very bone. I looked up to see Sherlock peeling off his coat and draping it over me.

"The blood." I protested.

"It doesn't matter, all that matters is you. The ambulance is on its way." Sherlock said sincerely, meeting my eyes and pulling me so that my head was resting in his lap. The water dripped down his face, gliding across his cheekbones before plopping onto the hard ground. My arm suddenly began to hurt even more and the pain nearly blinded me. I tried to focus on Sherlock and his voice that was getting more and more distressed but it was too late. I was sucked back into the memories.

The screaming. The stained sand. The blood congealing on my front. Nobody to help. My leg aching. Pain ripping through my body starting at my shoulder. I'm going to die here.

I pulled in a deep breath and I was back with Sherlock, away from the horrible place where sand rubbed my skin raw and snuck into the wound, infecting it. I rolled my head to the side slightly and watched the water drag the blood along the side street like a stream. It was peaceful. I could just relax. If I just shut my eyes all the blood will be gone. Just shut my... Eyes. Slipping away. It's peaceful. Shut my eyes. This is a nice place to die. JOHN. Who's yelling? JOHN! This is my dream place. JOHN, COME BACK TO ME PLEASE! Sherlock... Sherlock... "SHERLOCK" I yelled, opening my eyes, blinking away my tears as I reminded myself why I has been living for the past year or so. Sherlock Holmes. The man that was worth any amount of pain.


	16. Railway Line

**AN: Hello, hello, hello:) **

**Its me:) (well obviously it's you Erin, you silly girl..) :3**

**If convenient please review, if inconvenient please review anyway...**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prompt word by: My friend Carys:)<em>**

_Railway Line:_

The watery, morning sunlight sliced through the scattered clouds, throwing streaks of brightness over the London streets. Many of the citizens of England were still snuggled up in their beds, cocooned in happy thoughts and dreams. The residents of 221B Baker Street would usually have been some of these people however today they were racing around at half past four in the morning.

John Watson, the more organised one in their relationship, was dashing around the flat, checking things off on a long list. If something that was on the list wasn't in one of the numerous cases stacked around the floor of the flat he would try and find it. Usually the item was being used as part of an 'experiment' conducted by his eccentric boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. So far John had discovered his razors in the fridge, his favourite jumper in a locked cupboard and the cluedo board, also in the fridge.

The shorter man was very used to Sherlock's strange tendencies and accepted them as one of the things that made him love the detective more.

Said detective was lying on the sofa, curled up in his long dressing gown. John was about to demand that his raven haired boyfriend got up and finished packing when he realised that Sherlock was asleep. This was such a rare occurrence for the detective so John, being a good, considerate boyfriend, let Sherlock sleep on.

The ex-army doctor resumed his packing but was more quiet about it, not wanting to wake his beautiful Sherlock. However 10 minutes later he roused the sleeping man by gently stroking his cheek. He was about to lift his hand away when it was caught by his boyfriends pale one.

"Hello, John" rumbled Sherlock in his baritone voice.

"Morning, Sherlock." John said,chuckling. The detective stretched once before standing up and grabbing one of his suitcases.

They said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson and left 221B, catching a cab to the train station. The can ride passed quickly as both of the tired men watched the London scenery fly past through the tinted windows.

They reached the station and hauled their bags out of the boot of the old,black cab. John payed the cabbie, thanking him for getting them to the station on time. The boyfriends joined hands and walked through the front door,being hit immediately by a blast of freezing air condition.

John grabbed the tickets out of the top of Sherlock's rucksack and dragged the raven-haired detective to the barrier separating the platforms. They were allowed onto the platform and found an excited looking Molly and Greg waiting around the corner for them.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Be nice." He cautioned, knowing that the detective might be rude to Lestrade or Molly without fully meaning it.

Molly greeted the two of them with a smile and pulled a twist of hair out of her face, reaching over to hug John.

Lestrade gave a weak smile and stretched his arm out to shake a tanned hand with John's warm one and Sherlock's pale one.

Molly stepped back, enfolding herself in Greg's strong arms and dropping her smile as she started to speak.

"There was a...um... Mishap with the tickets and uh..."

"Basically, we booked the tickets at the wrong time so now we are here two hours too early." Greg said, smiling apologetically at the scowling detective.

".Idiots!"

"Sherlock..." John said, rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of his partner's hand.

Sherlock huffed loudly but held in the rest of his numerous insults. Instead he passed his time by glaring at the railway line.


	17. Sleepover

_**AN: Hello again. I am back and I bring Kidlock and descriptions of Jawwn's house. This one is more descriptive than what I usually write BUT I wanted to try something different. Hopefully it is still good:) **_

_**Enjoy my friends:) **_

_**P.S. Please feel free to review, especially with Prompts:D  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><strong><em><strong>Prompt word by: MethurrJade**_**

_Sleepover:_

The evening drew closer and all of the light seemed to be sucked out of the sky. The only source remaining being the moon shaped streetlights that hung like orbs in the summer sky and the last dregs of sunlight that fought the all encompassing darkness. Blackness swept over a short cul-de-sac and settled snugly like a blanket over the wet ground. There was a loud crunch of tyres on wet gravel and a posh-looking black car drove round the corner into the street, headlights swinging crazily. The bright lights of the car shot sharp shadows over the street before the vehicle came to a stop in front of a house with a green door. A lanky eleven year old boy, jumped lightly out of the back, curls springing as he landed on the ground. An impeccably dressed twenty two year old also stepped, rather more elegantly than his younger brother, out of the dark car. As he stepped away from the car he flicked a wide black umbrella open to cover himself from the light spray coming from the sky. The young boy fumbled with the boot and dragged a plain black suitcase out of it, dropping it to the floor with a muted thud. The young man with the umbrella picked up the suitcase and pulled out the handle, wheeling it along the damp ground while simultaneously pulling the dark haired boy under the protection of the umbrella. The young boy knocked lightly, hesitantly, on the green door. From behind the wooden door there came a joyous shout, then the door was wrenched open, echoing in the hallway as it slammed against the wall.

"John!" Came an angry woman's voice from around the corner. "Ah, hello Sherlock. Good evening..." She trailed off, not knowing what the impeccably dressed strangers name was.

"Mycroft Holmes," he said smoothly, "Sherlock's brother."

"Younger I assume?" The short woman said, laughing lightly.

"Of course." Mycroft replied with a small grin. " Now, you be good Sherlock." The elder Holmes reached down and fondly stroked his younger brother's hair. "I'll pick you up at eleven tomorrow. Have fun."

With that he stepped out of the door, swinging the umbrella open leaving Sherlock to awkwardly greet his best friend. But there was no room for awkwardness in the Watson household and John dragged Sherlock by the hand into the kitchen with his mother. The young Holmes was struck by how similar John and his mother looked. They both had the same sandy hair (though hers was longer, obviously) , the same kind eyes and the same warm and welcoming smile. So Sherlock was surprised when a moody looking seventeen year old walked into the room. The girl had long browny red hair and unfriendly looking hazel eyes. She had bright pink headphones rammed in her ears and Sherlock could hear the bass thumping from five feet away from her.

"This is my sister Harriet." John said, gesturing at her.

"Uggh, just call me Harry." She growled, grabbing a bar of chocolate and stomping out of the kitchen. She looked nothing like John or his mother.

"Is she okay?" Sherlock asked timidly.

"She's a teenager, sweetheart." Mrs Watson said, "You'll be like that one day. You too John."

The two boys turned to each other and began to chuckle quietly before laughing loudly in sync. Mrs Watson gave the boys a kind smile and shooed them out of the kitchen saying that she'd let them no when dinner was ready. The two boys lingered in the hallway for a while before John pulled Sherlock into the living room. The shorter boy slumped into a comfy looking purple leather couch. It was dark and old so the leather was soft and moulded to John's shape. He patted the space next to him and Sherlock sat down, keeping both feet flat on the floor and his back off the sofa. John chuckled at his friend saying, "Relax."

Sherlock did just that. He leant back into the comfortable sofa and tucked his feet under himself, observing the cozy looking room as John fiddled with the many remote controls. The room was painted a warm reddish purple colour and the heavy curtains were light with purple sections. On the opposite side of the room there was a large brown armchair that looked like it hadn't been sat on in a while. Between the armchair and the sofa they were relaxing on there was a larger, lumpier brown and red sofa. Opposite that sofa there was a roaring fire and on the mantelpiece above the fire there were four framed photographs: one of a younger John eating an ice-lolly with his blond hair messily tucked behind one ear, another was of a younger Harry whose light brown hair was caught in strands on her lips that were stretched in a happy smile, one photo was of John's mother and father on their wedding day as they blew kisses to their friends,arms wrapped tightly around one another, the final picture was of John's proud looking father in his military uniform. Sherlock didn't need to deduce anything to know that the picture was probably the last one John's dad ever featured in.

He was dragged out of his trance by John asking what film he wanted to watch.

"I don't mind, John but isn't dinner soon?"

"Good point, let's watch Doctor Who then." John said happily, grabbing a pillow to shield his eyes from the scariest monsters.

The two boys watched one episode of Doctor Who before Mrs Watson called them into the kitchen-dining room for dinner. The small gathering happily tucked into pasta bake and garlic bread.

Two hours and one bag of skittles later John and Sherlock found themselves in the older boys bedroom ploughing through episodes of Doctor Who and bags of sweets.

"This is our first ever sleepover together Sherlock, isn't that great?"

"It's my first ever sleepover with anybody."

John dropped the jelly bean that was near his mouth. He crawled towards Sherlock and put his face very close to the raven-haired boy's.

"Really?"

"Yes, John."

"Oh, Sherlock." John said, hugging him, "I can't believe this is your first EVER sleepover!"


	18. Jumper

AN: okey dokey, this one is also a Kidlock! However they are older in this one:) I thought it would be nice to upload this and 'Sleepover' at the same time so that you could see the comparison.

Just to clarify, all mistakes are mine and I don't own anything to do with Sherlock.

Also, I am so happy with all the reviews that you lot have given, everytime I read one I really light up inside and I it makes me feel so happy:D I genuinely can't thank you all enough!

Sorry if I don't update as much as I should:/ I am still accepting prompt words:D

-Erin:D

I love you all like Moriarty loves Moran;)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prompt word by:<strong>_

_Jumper:**  
><strong>_

The rain battered down from the sky, slamming into the ground in one unbroken sheet of cold and wet. The droplets were hitting the floor at such speed that some would bounce back up and soak the feet of anybody trudging through the streets.

One of those people was Sherlock Holmes. The lanky 15 year old was staggering through the rain, head bowed against the force of the wind, soaked curls dripping cold splatters of wetness onto his face.

Then as one of his feet sunk into a deep and muddy puddle he spotted the homely lights shining out of window frames that he knew were painted green, (even if he couldn't see them) that signalled the warmth of the Watson household. Sherlock shuddered as the icy droplets slipped down his back, caressing his skin and lift hairs in the back of his neck.

He jogged the last few paces, eager to be in John's warm and friendly household. Sherlock raised his frozen knuckle and knocked on the door, desperately hoping that his best friend was in.

/Please,please,please be in. Please, ple-/

His mental pleading was interrupted by a slight creak and an opening door. Sherlock stepped into the house and pulled off his rain-soaked jacket. He was almost immediately pulled into a warm and comforting hug by Mrs Watson. The shortish blonde woman smelt of lavender and soap and Sherlock knew that when he pulled away the comforting smell would linger on his clothes.

"Evening Sherlock." She said, letting go off him and hanging up his jacket.

"Hello Mrs Watson."

"Please, I've known you 11 years Sherlock, call me Gill."

"Okay Gill." The woman smiled at his response and then yelled for her son. Sherlock heard the pounding of feet down the the stairs and suddenly he was in John's arms. The shorter blonde boy pressed his face into Sherlock's shoulder, mumbling hello as Sherlock lowered his face, inhaling the scent of John's jumper. The two boys hugged for slightly longer than most friends do before pulling away and running up the stairs.

"John, give Sherlock one of your jumpers. He looks freezing." Mrs Wats- Gill shouted as they opened the door to John's bedroom.

"Will do mum!" Sherlock followed John into the room and sat down on his bed, tucking his feet up under his arse and pressing his hands, prayer-style to his face. John began rummaging through drawers until he found a blue jumper with green patterning. He threw it at Sherlock and then sat down on the bed next to his best friend, watching Sherlock pull on the jumper. The two boys sat next to each other, the silence hanging in the air, waiting to be broken. Sherlock inhaled deeply,  
>"I have something I need to tell you, John."<br>"What is Sherlock?  
>"John... I'm gay." He said in a huff of breath, ducking his head. John reached out a hand and stroked Sherlock's shoulder comfortingly.<br>"How did you know?"

Here it is, Sherlock thought, Here's the end of our friendship, he's going to think I'm a freak like everybody else does. Sherlock steeled himself before whispering, "Because of my feelings for you."

He expected John to push him away and order him out of the house. He could just imagine sitting alone like he did in the classes that John wasn't in. He could almost hear the insults crashing in his ears.

But, he felt a pressure in his lips and opened his eyes to see John's face close to his. John hooked one hand in Sherlock's hair, twisting his fingers through the rumpled curls as he closed his eyes, moving his lips softly. Sherlock scooted closer to John and upon feeling his best friend's body pressed against his, stretched out his arm, pulling John's waist. John's eyes flew open at Sherlock's intimate gesture, his genuis best friend was usually so cold, their eyes met and Sherlock saw love, warmth and happiness radiating from John's glowing orbs.

Then John pulled away and dashed out of the room, leaving Sherlock smiling happily, playing with the hem of his borrowed jumper.


	19. Baking

_**Prompt word from: Rhianna (I think?)**_

_Baking:_

It had been a long day at the surgery for John. He was looking forward to getting home and kicking off his shoes before relaxing in his armchair and watching some crappy TV.

He opened the door leading to 221B and found that the flat was suspiciously silent.

"Sherlock?" He called, hesitantly stepping into the flat, fearing what he might find. Suddenly in a cloud of white dust Sherlock burst from the kitchen and pushed his out of the door, locking it and leaving the key in.

John was locked out.

Safe to say, the ex-army doctor was more than a little pissed off. All he had wanted was a quiet evening watching the TV. But then again when would he ever get an evening like that living with Sherlock bloody Holmes.

"Let me in, Sherlock!" John commanded, angrily.

"I'm afraid I can't John, I'm taking part in an exciting and vital experiment."

"Sherlock Holmes you let me in right this instant!"

"I can't."

"Yes you bloody well can. Or... I'll call Mycroft!"

"You wouldn't."

"Try me." John said, knowing Sherlock would believe him. There was a small click and the door opened. Sherlock stood in the doorway attempting to keep his cool. It was quite difficult considering his current appearance.

He was coated from head to food in a fine white powder. It clung to his hair and specks had plastered themselves to his tight fitting shirt. The white flecks were covering most of his black trousers and every time he moved a little cloud of powder followed him.

John stepped into the flat, careful to avoid Sherlock so that he didn't get any powder on his clothes. As the shorter man stepped into 221B he was greeted by an appetising aroma. It was...pie? Chicken and mushroom if he wasn't mistaken.

John turned to his flatware, confusion etched on his face.

"This is flour." Sherlock stated, waltzing back over to his experiment.

"What's all this for?"

"I'm proving that the person arrested yesterday is innocent by seeing how long it takes to bake specific kinds of pies-ah, this one is done! Hmmm, interesting, longer than the kidney but less than the meat and potato..."

John let Sherlock ramble on and stared in wonder at the four or so pies, sitting serenely on the table.

"What are you going to do with then?" John asked.

"Eat them, or rather you are. I didn't throw them away because I thought you'd like a nice tasting dinner. You had a bad day at work. I could tell by the way you spoke on the phone." With that, Sherlock gestured that John should sit down and start eating.

On hearing John's contented huff Sherlock returned to his baking.


	20. Loyal

**AN: Now I have cheated a little bit because technically the prompt word was loyalty. However I used loyal because it fitted better. **

**Anyway, this is a poem-style one. **

**I wanted to try something new and I had this idea at like one am.. (I always get my best ideas in the middle of the night..sigh).**

**So yeah, enjoy.**

**(my unofficial name for the is 'four words are enough', you'll see why soon)**

**-Erin:)**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prompt word by: Merthurr<em>**

_Loyal:_

Four words are enough.

I love you John.  
>All for you John.<br>I'm doing this for you.  
>That's what Sherlock said.<p>

_I believe in Him_

Please be strong John.  
>Stay strong forever John.<br>I'm never really gone.  
>That's what Sherlock said.<p>

***  
><em><br>I believe in you._

Dry your tears John.  
>Warm your heart John.<br>Don't weep for me.  
>That's what Sherlock said.<p>

***  
><em><br>I still believe you._

I'm a fake John.  
>Moriarty's a fake John.<br>It was all lies  
>That's what Sherlock said.<p>

_I don't believe lies.  
><em>

Are you okay John?  
>Sherlock is dead John.<br>He has no pulse.  
>That's what they say.<p>

_You don't believe really.  
><em>

He loved you John.  
>Nobody but you John.<br>That's why he fell.  
>They think it's comfort.<p>

_I believe in Sherlock_

I loved him Lestrade  
>I adored him Lestrade<br>I lived for him.  
>That's what I say.<p>

***  
><em><br>Believe in a detective._

But he's gone John.  
>Never coming back John.<br>Left in a grave.  
>They tell me again.<p>

_Believe in __**the**__ detective_

It's really dark now.  
>Life is dull now.<br>Sherlock was my fate.  
>Life isn't worth this.<p>

_I believe in him._

Just move on freak.  
>He's finally dead freak.<br>He's gone for good.  
>Your words cut deep.<p>

_Please come back Sherlock.  
><em>

The lights have gone.  
>It's heavy under here.<br>I'm not very strong.  
>Not strong without you.<p>

_I have to believe._

It'll be better John.  
>I promise you John.<br>Life will turn bright.  
>Lestrade does not understand.<p>

_I trusted you._

You promised me something.  
>You weren't a fraud.<br>I know you for real.  
>I love you Sherlock.<p>

_I believe, my love._

I believe in Sherlock  
>Moriarty was definitely real.<br>Lestrade was drawn in.  
>John Watson remains Loyal.<p>

_**Forever and always, Sherlock.**_

_**I will stay loyal.**_


	21. Disdain

**AN: Hello guys:) I'm so unbelievably sorry that I haven't updated in a while! I've been revising for exams and sorting out ther stuff and I just haven't had time... :'( **

**But here is my sorry present... I know it's short but please don't kill me!:0 **

**I love you all as much as Sherlock loves his skull..**

**Prompts are always welcome:3**

**Also I just want to take this moment to thank each and every one of you that has reviewed/favourited/alerted this story. It means so much to me and it makes me feel so happy when people do stuff like that:D So seriously thankyou a billion times! (here have some internet cake ^_^)**

**-Erin:)**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prompt word from: Merthurr<em>**

_Disdain:_

The car rolled smoothly along the gravelled drive, purring lightly as it drew to a stop in front of a huge set of wooden doors. Two sleek black doors were thrown open, releasing a bickering Sherlock and John. Sherlock stepped away from the right hand side of the car and pushed the door shut.  
>"I don't understand." John protested, "Why don't you want me to meet your parents?"<br>"Parent. Father is away, we'll be meeting mother today." Sherlock replied as he stalked forwards, long coat flapping behind him. He had expected John to follow him, so was surprised to realise that his blogger wasn't behind him. The detective turned and looked at John who was stood stock still, head bowed slightly.  
>"John?"<br>"Are you ashamed of me Sherlock?" John asked, raising his head. Sherlock leapt forward and pulled John into his arms. "No, of course I'm not love." John relaxed slightly against his boyfriend.  
>"Then why are you so worried?"<br>"My mother isn't very... Accepting." Sherlock said, shamefully burying his face into John's fluffy hair. John pulled away slightly and met Sherlock's eyes. "Your mother can say whatever she wants but nothing, nothing, will stop me loving you."

Sherlock smiled at his boyfriend of two years, tears of happiness lingering in his eyes.  
>"I love you John Watson."<br>"As I love you Sherlock." John replied before he leant upwards and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. The consulting detective smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms tightly around John.

Neither man noticed the twitch in the curtain, or the face that stared with a horrified expression. Mrs Holmes backed away into the living room, disgust filling her whole body. She sank on the couch, covering her face with her hands wondering what she had done wrong. There was a light tap on the door and her elder son, Mycroft, entered the room. He sat down opposite his mother, elegantly unfolding a newspaper and immersing himself in it.

"Did you know?" Mrs Holmes hissed. Mycroft nodded slowly.  
>"Don't be harsh mother, or I will walk out of here with Sherlock and we will never come back." At those final few words, Mycroft looked up and stared at his mother, icy venom filling his usually expressionless eyes.<p>

The Holmes staring match was interrupted by a rude knock. Sherlock strolled into the room, followed by John. Mrs Holmes looked up and noted that Sherlock was holding hands with the other man. Filled with revulsion, she scowled at the two men with disdain.


	22. Yesterday

**AN: I'm so so sorry for not updating sooner. I might have to put writing on hold until about halfway through june. I have exams -_- Hopefully I'll be writing stuff but I just don't seem to have very much time recently.. But I promise I will NOT ABANDON THIS! **

**PINKY PROMISE;)**

**Any MCR fans out there? :D **

**If you're a My Chem fan hopefully you'll like this:)**

**(also I'm not sure if I like writing as Mycroft, I think I screwed up the first bit -_-)**

**-Erin**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prompt word from: Myself:D<strong>_

_Yesterday:_

'_Cause you only live forever in the lights you make_

The coffin is plain black with a nailed shut lid. It is just how he would like it.

I reach up to dry a tear that has formed on my cheek. I can't understand how anybody can stand to be near me. I betrayed my own brother and now he's dead.

Nobody understands me, nobody ever did. The person closest to my heart who understood almost everything I felt was Sherlock. But now he's dead and is lying in this box.

I look over to John who isn't even attempting to hide his grief. Each line on his face is a sleepless night, each tear on his cheek is a memory of Sherlock. The ex-army doctor gazes upwards and meets my eyes. For the first time I see an iciness there. It's like looking in the mirror.

John is the only person who knows what I did.

He will never forgive me.

I'm interrupted from my musings by the priest speaking, "We are gathered here today to mourn Sherlock Holmes. His untimely passing should remind each and everyone one of you that life is a miracle. His imprint on our lives will last forever."

_When we were young we used to say_

I pull my eyes away from Mycroft's, angry tears burning down my cheeks. I try to forget what he did but it's impossible. Every time I look at him I see betrayal. I'm pretty sure that Sherlock wouldn't have sold him out like that.

I try to focus on what the priest is saying but it all slips into blur as I imagine what Sherlock would say if he were here. But if he were here this wouldn't be happening anyway..

My thoughts are drawn back to when we were younger...

_That you only hear the music when your heart begins to break_

"John."  
>"Yes, Sherlock."<br>"Will you be sad if I die?"  
>"Nah.."<br>"Really John?"  
>"Of course I'd be sad Sherlock."<br>"Why?"  
>"What do you mean why?"<br>"Why would you be sad?"  
>"Because you're my best friend."<br>"I am?"  
>"Of course you are Sherlock!"<br>"You're mine."  
>"Your what sorry?"<br>"Best friend, John Watson you are my best friend."  
>"Thanks... If you died my heart would break."<br>"What song would play?"  
>"Pardon?"<br>"Wouldn't there be a song you thought of?"  
>"I don't understand you Sherlock."<p>

But now I get it. I can feel my heart breaking and all I can hear is your soft yet strong baritone voice whispering in my ear. I can hear your nimble fingers lightly plucking the violin strings and the elegant way your bow swept across the strings.

I know what you mean now Sherlock.

_Now we are the kids from yesterday_

"And now, Mycroft Holmes will be saying a few words."

I adjust my tie and step up, acutely aware of the tears threatening to overflow. I reach my hand into my deep trouser pocket, softly rubbing my thumb against the silky lining and pull out my speech. I unfold the paper, meticulously straightening the creases.

"Sherlock Holmes was my brother. He was my little brother and I should have protected him. He was a brilliant, amazing man. He was clever and a useful relation to have in terms of cases. But I want to talk about my favourite Sherlock. Ten year old Sherlock.

"He loved pirates. He liked to eat sweets. He used to sneak into my room at midnight and try to 'snuggle with My'. Some weekends we'd have midnight feasts, he'd bring the sweets and I'd bring the cakes. We'd sit in my room stuffing ourselves silly with sugary snacks until Sherlock fell asleep on my shoulder. I'd drape a blanket over his shoulder and fall asleep next to him.

"On mornings he would wake me up at the craziest times to play pirates with him. We'd run into the garden, dressed up in eye patches and scarves while we pretended to search for buried treasure. I would... I'm sorry.." I choked the last two words, overcome with emotion.

"I can't ever make up for what I've done; I want my young and carefree brother back. But.. Sherlock and I are children of yesterday.


	23. Lights

**AN: Oh my gosh I am so so so so sorry! I haven't updated this in the longest time and I feel so horrendously guilty. I also want to tell you that I probably won't be updating this for ages again because I have exams. That's why I haven't been updating recently... REVISION! :( **

**Also, I have been experimenting with writing for different fandoms and doing things outside of drabbles... For example I'm taking part in this Hugers Games writing thing on tumblr and I have written a one shot for House of Anubis. I swear on my OTP that I am not abondoning Johnlock, nor am I abandoning this fandom, I just want to strecth myself and try out new couples to write abut. **

**As well I haven't been feeling very motivated to write recently.. I'm not sure why but I just haven't. If you have prompted me, I promise that I will write them but just not at the moment. **

**I know how short this is and I know that it s probably rubbish but I didn't want to just have an authors note. And seen as though I wrote this I wanted to post it. **

**I love you all tons and tons and hopefully I'll don my writing boots soon.. (after I pass maths and biology)**

**Finally, thankyou to everyone who had read, reviewed, alerted and favurited this story. It means a lot:)  
><strong>

**-Erin :3 xxx**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Promt from: Journey Hates<em>**

_Lights:_

Sherlock woke up with a pounding headache, dripping with sweat and having absolutely no memory of the night before.  
>"John!" He yelled, rolling out of the bed and falling to the floor. He lost his balance and collapsed, spread-eagled in only his boxers. The door creaked open and John strolled in, looking ten times better than he felt. He ignored the consulting detective who was lying on the floor, simply stepping over him to fling the curtains open. Sherlock groaned and covered his eyes, crawling back into bed and pulling a blanket over his face.<br>"Do you remember anything that happened last night?" John asked, sitting on the end of Sherlock's bed. "You were really pissed."

Sherlock desperately wracked his brain, attempting to remember anything about the night before. "No." he admitted, shame-faced, curling up into a ball.

"Well," John began, "We went down to the pub with the yarders and had a few beers at first. Then Lestrade invited Molly and you were incredibly rude to her. In your defence, you were quite drunk then but that was no excuse.."

"Should I get her some flowers?"  
>"What?"<br>"As an apology."  
>"Oh yeah, that'd be really nice Sherlock... Where was I?"<br>"Molly turned up."

"So then me, you, Lestrade, Molly and Donovan came back round here and had a few more beers. Then you had the smart idea of mixing loads of drinks together. You got absolutely hammered. You were dancing around like a drunk giraffe. I got Lestrade, Donovan and Molly home so that was good. And then... Oh, it doesn't matter..."

"Tell me John."

"Well." John flushed bright red before half stuttering, "You kissed me."  
>Sherlock lifted his head and stared at John with his piercing blue-green-grey eyes. "I kissed you."<br>"Yeah.. I knew it was stupid.." John said, looking embarrassed and slightly disappointed.  
>"I kissed you and I don't remember it?"<br>"Uh, yeah."  
>"God dammit!" Sherlock yelled, punching the pillow.<br>"What's wrong?" John asked, leaning closer to his flatmate. Suddenly Sherlock sat up and lurched forwards, pressing his lips to John's, hungrily grabbing the doctor's face in his hands. Then as spontaneously as he started the kiss, he ended it, throwing himself back down and flinging his arm over his eyes.  
>"John, I have a pounding headache and I can't see. For gods sake please get rid of the lights."<p> 


	24. Chciken Soup

AN: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY ON THE 4TH, THAT'S 2 DAAYYS! :D I'M SO EXCITED!

but on a sadder note I still probably won't be updating very much.. :(

I love you all as much as I ship Johnlock.

P.S John's texts are bold, Sherlock's are italics:)

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prompt word from: Ijustwanttobeabritishman<em>**

_Chicken Soup:_

Sherlock was ill. No matter how much he denied it, he was ill. So John as a doctor figured that it was his job to look after his poor boyfriend. Unfortunately John had to go into work so he left Sherlock curled up in bed saying to text him if he needed anything.

John had just finished treating his first patient and was waiting for the second when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

_John. SH_

**Yes Sherlock?**

_I don't feel well. SH_

**Go get a drink.**

_I can't. SH_

**Why?**

Sherlock?

Why can't you go get a drink?

Sherlock?

Answer me Sherlock!

_I was just getting a drink. SH  
><em> **  
>I thought you said you couldn't get a drink!<strong>

_I lied. SH_

**Right, I'm working again.**

_John. SH_

John are you there?SH

John.

John!SH

Help me!SH

**Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you hurt, just stay calm I'll come home soon.**

_Oh there's nothing wrong, I just wanted you to _

**Sherlock! I am trying to work!**

_Please John. SH_  
><strong><br>What?**

_Come home. SH_

**Why?**

_Because I'm... ill. SH  
><em>  
><strong>You finally admit it?<br>**  
><em>Yes. SH<br>_  
><strong>So this is you admitting that you are human and you do get sick..<strong>

_Yes. SH  
><em>  
><strong>Okay I'm on my way home now. <strong>

_Good. SH_

Sherlock tossed his mobile onto the pillow beside him and snuggled into the covers, waiting for John to come home. When he heard the front door open he wished that he could jump out of bed and throw himself at John, kissing the ex-army doctor's beautiful lips. But he couldn't, the pounding headache, stuffed nose and scratchy throat made that impossible.

Sherlock heard John bustling around in the kitchen for a while before John pushed open his bedroom door open and gave Sherlock a bowl of Mrs Hudson's finest homemade chicken soup.

"Feed it too me." Sherlock said in a cracked voice. John sighed and rolled his eyes but still sat down next to his flat mate and began to feed him the soup.  
>"Honestly you are such a child." John replied. Sherlock just smiled, swallowing a gulp of chicken soup.<p> 


	25. DVD

**AN: Hello everybody:) **

**I'm so sorry that this is short! **

**I love you all tons:D (and I probably won't be updating again very soon either)**

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prompted by:merthurr<em>**

_DVD:_

I pushed open huge door to the flat feeling horrendous. To say that it had been a tough day at the surgery was an understatement. There was one child who was clearly suffering from child abuse.

It was horrible. Seeing the little three year old girl flinch as I touched her forehead, glassy tears dripping down her cheeks as I inspected her ribs. One broken, one fractured. I told the mother to take her to the hospital but the woman refused. Obviously she didn't want to get caught. On my break I called Lestrade a let him know about the little girl, Molly Valhouser.

Then in the afternoon an elderly lady had come in and I had to transfer her to the hospital because if my suspicions are correct, she has cancer.

To make things worse, when I was walking home Lestrade called and told me that the mother had taken the girl and ran so the police couldn't save her.

I knew that Molly Valhouser would feature heavily in my dreams. Her tearful blue eyes and scraggly hair weaving through machine guns and dying soldiers.

So the "I had a bad day." that I told Sherlock was very much an understatement.

I pushed open the door to the flat, stepping inside and slipping off my coat. "Sherlock!" I yelled, wondering where my flat mate was. I was surprised to see him curled up on the sofa, a bowl of buttered popcorn on the table a pile of blankets by his feet. He pressed play on the remote and threw me a blanket. I wrapped it round my shoulders and sank down on the sofa, snuggling into Sherlock. "Hey." he said, kissing my forehead. I heard the doctor who theme tune and looked up at Sherlock, smiling widely.  
>"You had a had a bad day, I thought you'd like to relax."<p>

I snuggled into the back of the sofa and watched the doctor go on his adventures.

I relaxed and fell asleep against Sherlock. As my breathing slowed, Sherlock pressed pause on the DVD.


	26. Nightmare

**AN: Parent!Lock :D **

**p.s I changed it from nightmare to nightmares :)  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prompt from:Chibigirl35<strong> _

_Nightmare:_

A strangled cry pierced the relative stillness of the London night. There was a pause before the bawling began, loud choking sobs that filled the whole flat. A little girl of around three was hiding under her covers, crying as she shook her curly hair out of her face. "DADDY!" she screeched, tears pouring down her cheeks.

John Watson sat up in his bed and rolled over, heart pounding in his chest as he slipped out of the duvet. Sherlock had already climbed out of bed and was purposefully striding out of their bedroom into the toddler's room. The consulting detective sat down on the little girl's bed and pulled her into his chest, wrapping his skinny arms around her and kissing her forehead. John sat of the other side of the girl and stroked her back comfortingly.  
>"It's okay sweetheart. It was just a nightmare." John said calmly, stroking her soft curls. The little girl looked up and met eyes with John, "B-But daddy, I was scared."<br>"What was the nightmare about?" Sherlock asked lovingly.  
>"It was about mummy."<p>

Those four words stopped Sherlock's heart. He knew he would regret telling her what had happened to her real parents. John had insisted that he wauted until she was older but Sherlock was adamant that she needed to know about it sooner rather than later. Her real father had abandoned her and her mother when she had just been born, leaving Cassandra Holmes to raise her daughter on her own. Cassandra was Sherlock's older sister. The key word being was. Cassandra was killed in a car accident last year and so Sherlock had begun to take care of little Jenny Holmes. She was every bit a Holmes. With her black curls and eyes of an indescribable blue she really could be Sherlock's child. She had started calling Sherlock daddy a long time ago. He always used to look after her when he didn't have crimes to be solving. John Watson and Jenny Holmes had clicked naturally. She cared for John and vice versa. Theirs was a small but loving family.

Jenny's hiccuping cry brought Sherlock back to the present. He pulled the little girl impossibly closer to him and buried his face in her hair, tears leaking down his cheeks. He missed her. Sherlock Holmes actually has emotions and has feelings. He misses his sister.

John hugged the two most important people in his life and wished that he could make them feel better.

~4 years later~

The door opened to reveal a sleepy-eyed, teary eight year old. John ushered Jenny into his room and pulled her up onto the bed, wrapping her up in his duvet. She pushed her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and stroked her long curls. "What's wrong?" he whispered into her ear, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. "I miss daddy." she replied, tightening her grip around John's waist. His breath caught in his throat as tears began to drip down his face. "I miss him too sweetheart." John replied, thinking back to Sherlock's fall.

The past two years had dragged slowly after Sherlock had died, nothing seemed real, nothing made any sense. John only carried on because of Jenny. He needed her as much as she needed him.

John looked down at the girl he had come to consider as a daughter and smiled because through it all, she was the happiness of day that chased away the nightmares.


	27. Sherlock's Scarf

**AN: This is part 2 to the previous ficlet, I don't normally two-parters but I felt that this needed a happy ending:)  
><strong>

**A little bit of fluffier stuff to heal your angsty wounds:3**_**  
><strong>_

**P.S. My exams are O-V-E-R! YAY! So that means I can start writing more:)  
><strong>

**-Erin :D  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prompt word from: IamSHERlocked4ever<br>**__  
>ScarfSherlock's scarf:_

"Happy birthday sweetheart!" John said to Jenny, waiting for Molly to snap a picture of the now nine year old girl. Jenny smiled widely and ran over to Molly, hugging her legs yelling, "Auntie Molly, I loovee you!"  
>"I love you too, you grown up girlie." Molly replied, picking the girl up and swinging her round. After she was placed down Jenny tottered over to DI Lestrade who was bent down with his arms outstretched, waiting for a hug. "I loove you too Greggy Weggy." she said, chuckling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her gently on the forehead and handed her a huge present wrapped up in sparkly wrapping paper with a huge pink bow. Jenny ran over to the table and put the present down, ready to rip it open. "What do you say to Auntie Molly and Uncle Greg?" John asked, stroking Jenny's hair softly. "Thankyou!" The dark haired girl replied, shaking her long plaits over her shoulder. John walked over to Greg and Molly and stood beside them as they all watched Jenny eagerly opening the present. "Thanks for doing this." John said to them, "It's always been difficult doing this sort of thing without.. Sherlock."<p>

"It's okay John." Lestrade said, clapping a hand on his back and wrapping his free arm around Molly, "I understand." Just then the flat door opened and Mycroft strolled in, looking elegant as always, followed by Mrs Hudson. "Good day John." Mycroft said in a voice as smooth as silk.  
>"Mycroft." John replied, nodding his head at the member of the British government. Jenny looked up and realised that more people had joined the small party, "Uncle My!" She yelled, running over to greet him, purple dress flapping out behind her. Mycroft leant down and hugged her, kissing the top of her head lightly. Jenny then hugged Mrs Hudson tightly before running back over to her present.<p>

She finally managed to tear the paper open and revealed two 'my little ponies'. "Thankyou!" she yelled, jumping around excitedly. Mycroft then passed her a package wrapped in purple starry paper. "Thankyou My." She said, attempting to open the present with her small, skinny fingers. Inside was a beautiful green dress with a lacy underskirt. Jenny beamed widely at the small party before yelling, "Music! Please daddy!" John obliged, walking over to the CD player and hitting play on the kids' classics CD that he had given Jenny for her birthday. Jenny ran forward and grabbed Molly's hand pulling her over to dance. Soon all the adults were dancing with the excitable 9 year old and laughing along with the little girl. They were all so caught up in the dancing that they didn't hear the flat door creak open.

Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway, staring fondly at young Jenny, tears of happiness in his bluey grey eyes. "Am I too late to join in?" he asked, raising his voice above the music. Everything seemed to go in slow motion as the party guests spun around, turning to face the man they all thought was dead. A deathly silence fell over the room. A moment later it was broken by Jenny shrieking, "Daddy!" and running over to Sherlock, laughing as he lifted her up and pulled her into a hug, keeping her close to him.

"Hello darling." he said, kissing her forehead as she wound her arms around his neck. John just stared at the love of his life. He felt anger welling up inside of him but he pushed it down only allowing happiness in his mind.

"Sherlock." He sighed, jogging over to the taller man and stroking his face.  
>"It's me John." Sherlock croaked, emotion filling his voice. John leant towards the man he loves and pressed his lips firmly against his, finally feeling at one with the world again.<br>"Eww!" Jenny yelled, laughing happily, face buried in Sherlock's scarf.


	28. Candles

**AN: Here is me apologising for leaving it so long before updating and that this is so short.****  
><strong>

**I'm trying to upload good chapters that I properly work on, instead of upload rubbishy ones all the time because I think that you guys deserve the best.  
><strong>

**I want to take this time to thank all of you for reading these, especially those who have reviewed and favourited. You all deserve awards for being the most supportive readers ever, because without all of you I wouldn't have written half of these. I seriously owe you all big time. YOu have all made me better writers and you have immensely boosted my confidence. Before I started writing fanfiction and stuff I just used to like writing in English lessons every now and again but writing this sort of stuff has made me realise how much I enjoy it and all of you people that have reviewed have given me passion to write and have made me strive to improve.  
><strong>

**I don't know if all of you are writers yourself but if you are then you will probably understand this more. But everytime I get a review on one of these chapters it makes me smile, even if it is just a short: These are good, or a longer, more detailed review because it feels nice to know that people are out there appreciating what I am doing and enjoying my work.  
><strong>

**I'm sorry for rambling and I'm sorry that I didn't update sooner but I'm trying to write as much as I can:)  
><strong>

**Love you all,  
><strong>

**-Erin:) xx**_**  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prompt word from: Merthurr<strong>_

_Candles:_

John Watson sank into his comfortable armchair with a mug of steaming tea in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He opened the paper and flicked through a few pages with his thumb, taking huge gulps of his tea every now and again. An hour or so passed in this comfortable way, although the tea only lasted about twenty minutes. Once he had finished the newspaper, John decided to get changed out of his jumper and jeans into a new blue shirt and tailored trousers that Sherlock had bought him. He pulled one of his nicer jumpers and wandered back to the living room, setting the kettle to boil as he strolled past it.

Today was John and Sherlock's 1 year anniversary. The pair had been in a romantic relationship for exactly a year and John couldn't be happier. Although Sherlock said that their relationship was more than friendship for a long time before that.

The ex army doctor made his tea and sat on the sofa, flicking on the TV to watch an episode of doctor who. He laughed along with the eleventh doctor as he did stupid things and met crazy aliens. After he watched an episode he checked the time nervously and texted Sherlock asking him where he was. The two of them were supposed to meet at the flat at six then head off to a posh Italian restaurant on the other side of London. It was seven now. Sighing, John got his Doctor Who DVD and watched another episode, fully expecting Sherlock to stumble through the door at any time, complaining that the case had taken longer than expected and he hadn't been able to pick up his phone. But he didn't.

John looked over at the clock at the end of the episode and watched the hands tick tock past 8. The army doctor felt anger fill him as he realised that they had missed their reservation. He grabbed a blanket of the back of the sofa and pulled it over his feet, kicking off his smart shoes and slumping back into the sofa arm. Dejectedly he hit play again and watched another episode. As he watched, John slumped down, falling into a light sleep at around 9.15. He was roused from his slumber by a sharp ringing and he clutched his head whilst he reached over and grabbed his mobile.

"Hello."  
>"Hi John, it's Lestrade."<br>"What do you need."  
>"It's.. About, uh, Sherlock."<br>"What about him."  
>"Look John, I'm not going to beat around the bush here. It's just.. He's been kidnapped by Sebastian Moran."<p>

John felt his insides squirm unhappily and despair fill his whole body. He managed to choke out a strangled goodbye to Lestrade before collapsing back onto the sofa and pulling the blanket over his body. He rested his head on the arm of the sofa and choked back tears, hoping and praying that Sherlock would be okay.

* * *

><p>The next morning John woke up at around tennish and stretched his aching back and shoulders. He had stupidly fallen asleep on the sofa last night and was aching all over. He rolled off the chair and pulled his favourite jumper over his head, rucking his shirt up as he pulled it off. Then somebody coughed from the corner of the room. John turned around and saw Sherlock looking almost as good as new. His hair was slightly dishevelled and he had a black eye forming but to John he still looked perfect.<p>

"I'm sorry I missed our anniversary." He said, sitting down at the for once clutter free table that was now covered with a posh white table cloth and a lovely looking full English breakfast with candles burning softly beside the plate, "Please accept my apology meal. I know it's a poor substitute for our actual meal but.. I tried. You know I'm not good with sentiment."

John just smiled widely at his boyfriend and couldn't help but laugh at the image that sprung into his mind. Sherlock Holmes buying a set of elegant white candles.


	29. Slap

**AN: Hi guys, I'm back! I know it's been a while since I posted and I'm really sorry! I wrote this one on my iphone as always and I hope that it isn't too rubbish. :/ **

**Love you guys:D**

**P.S I think I've done all yur prompts Methurr! Yay! :D  
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**(I am still accpeting prompts so please give some to me people:3)  
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><p><em><strong>Prompt word from: merthurr<strong>_

_Slap:_

After three years of being 'dead', you would hope that Sherlock had a plan on how to announce that he was alive and not in fact deceased. A plan other than: Walk into Baker Street, kiss John, be happy and go solve crimes again. Unfortunately, that happened to be the only plan Sherlock had concocted.

So when it hit the three year anniversary of his death (he wanted dramatic effect), he walked up to the front door of Baker street and crept in quietly. He then snuck up the stairs quietly, coat flapping out behind him as he dashed up the steps. Then, being the polite as ever Sherlock, he threw open the door of the flat without bothering to knock.

The scene that met his eyes crushed his already broken heard. John was lying on the sofa, engaging in _sexual acts _with Mary. Then Sherlock noted the ring on her finger and the one on John's and the realisation hit him. They just got engaged.

All of this deduction took around two seconds which was just about long enough for John to look up and see Sherlock standing in the doorway, looking as if he was on the verge of crying.

That was when John remembered. It was when all the memories that he had forced himself to repress reappeared and pushed themselves to the front of his mind. Him and Sherlock laughing at Anderson. Him and Sherlock solving crimes. The two of them being together all the time. John saving Sherlock's life. The first time they met and the first time they kissed.

The first time Sherlock said "I love you" to John and the first time John said those words to a partner and meant it. The first time they went on a date. The first time John properly snogged a man and the first time Sherlock properly snogged anyone. The first time they had sex. The very first morning after when Sherlock's voice was scratchy and sexy. When they told Mrs Hudson, Molly and Lestrade about their relationship.

The first time that either of them fell in love.

So when Sherlock saw John with Mary it broke him. You could almost see the detective crumble. You could almost see his beating, bruised heart break inside his chest.

John pulled out of Mary and pulled on his boxers before running over to Sherlock, throwing his arms around him and crying into his neck.  
>"You're alive." he croaked, overwhelmed with happiness and joy.<p>

"I said that I'd never leave you." Sherlock replied simply, kissing John's head lightly and returning the hug. There was a cough from behind them and Mary was standing there. Hands on her hips with an angry pout as she demanded to know what was going on.  
>"This is Sherlock." John said.<p>

"But.. I thought he was dead." Mary said, seeming to have card down a little bit.

Sherlock could see that the two of them would get back together. He could almost imagine a future where John was with Mary instead of him and even the ghost of that outcome made his chest hurt. So, he eliminated the possibility.

Sherlock proceeded to lean forward and capture John's lips in a kiss and then stroke his rough cheek with his scarred fingers. John's eyes were wide open and he sunk into a feeling of pure bliss and happiness that was suddenly broken by Mary pulling them apart forcefully and making him face her.  
>"Look I'm sorry Mary, I love him-" the rest of John's words were cut of by Mary giving him a loud, painful slap.<p> 


	30. The Avengers

**AN: Hello, I'm sorry for leaving it so long! :/ I tried to update a few days ago but I couldn't because after I updated my House of Anubis fanfiction there was a problem with the server and wouldn't load at all! :( that sounds like some sort of shitty excuse but it really isn't.**

**So here is The Avengers haha:) I haven't seen the film but I know loads about it from tumblr. This drabble is in text form because I don't think I've dne one like this fr a while:) **

**Sorry it's short.**

P.S. Sherlock is in _italics_, John is normal and Lestrade is **bold**._  
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**Oh and I have another drabble written up and a huge list of prompts s I should be able to update sooner from now on!:D**

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><p><em><strong>Prompt word from: Merthurr<strong>  
><em>

_The Avengers:  
><em>

* * *

><p><em>John. SH.<em>

Yes, Sherlock?

_What are you doing? SH_

I'm just tidying up the surgery. Why?

_Meet me outside the cinema in 20 minutes. SH._

Why?

Sherlock?

God, I hate it when you do this!

Sherlock?

Has something happened?

Are you okay?

If you don't reply within a minute I am calling Lestrade!

Right, I am dialling now.

_Please don't overreact John, I was simply taking a shower. SH._

God, I hate you sometimes.

_I love you John. SH._

I love you too Sherlock.

_Good. SH._

I'm leaving the surgery now. Where are we meeting in the cinema?  
><em><br>Just in the main part where you buy popcorn. SH._

Are you going to give me a clue as to why I am going to the cinema?

.. I'll take that as a no then.

Are you going to be there?

Are we going on a date?

_Are you here yet? SH._

HERE! You said here, that means that you are at the cinema! You're not the only one who observes things!

And I'm almost there love.

_Good. SH._

I'm just walking in.

... You didn't..

_Oh, but I did John. SH._

**How did it go with Sherlock?**

It went okay Greg.

**okay?**

Let me just give you the short and simple version. He spray-painted I LOVE YOU JOHN WATSON over a cinema poster for my favourite film The Avengers.

- 1 hour later -

**Did you steal the poster?**

Of course I did… It had my name right next to the avengers.


	31. Mystrade

**AN: I'm sorry it's so short:'(  
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**I'm in the middle of writing 'brownies' at the moment:3  
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**Hope you enjoy this ficlet in which Molly finds tumblr.**_**  
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><p><em><strong>Prompted by: Merthurr<strong>_

_Mystrade:_

Molly Hooper was running late and Sherlock was getting impatient with waiting for her. She was supposed to meet him at the morgue half an hour ago and show him a dead body that was a key clue for the case he was working on.

What he didn't know was that Molly was rushing into the morgue right now with her phone in her hand. She shook some of her mousy brown hair out of her face and continued trying to walk through the crowd whilst staring at her phone screen. So far, she wasn't doing very well.

The casualties so far: one runner whose foot Molly had stood on, two children that Molly tripped over and five men holding briefcases or files, the contents of them are all over the floor.

Last night Molly made an amazing discovery. It's a blogging website called... Tumblr.

Molly is hooked, completely, totally hooked. She went to bed last night after hitting post limit on her blog. Miss Hooper found some interesting things on tumblr and one of the most interesting things was the concept of 'shipping'.

Also when Molly typed in Sherlock Holmes in the tags bar she found all sorts of blogs dedicated to him along with a huge amount of posts about something called 'Johnlock'. Now, you didn't have to be Sherlock to figure out who they were referring to.

So Molly typed Johnlock into the tags and found some cute fanart, some strange, sexual fanart and fanfiction. Then Molly decided to type in the names of all of her colleagues. When she typed in Lestrade she found something called Mystrade. _Interesting._

So when Molly met Sherlock in the morgue later she was very happy to find the detective kissing his blogger. She discretely took a picture and posted it on tumblr with the caption 'Johnlock is real'. It got 4,500 notes and Molly gained 50 followers.

Then later on when she saw Greg talking excitedly to Mycroft who had his hand placed gently on Lestrade's shoulder she couldn't help but yell, "MYSTRADE!"


	32. Brownies

**AN: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while. I have been SUPER busy doing the school musical and having a ton of assessments at school..:L**

**Here's a long-ish kid!Lock to satisfy your fanfiction needs.**

**Oh, and thankyou for all the really nice reviews on the last chapter:)  
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><p><strong><em>Prompted by: Merthurr<em>**

_Brownies:_

Mycroft took Sherlock's hand and pulled him towards the door of the Watson household. The curly hair six year old stared grumpily up at his fifteen year old brother who was dragging him along. Mycroft let go of Sherlock's hand and was just about to knock on the door when Sherlock grabbed his arm and met his eyes. "I don't wanna." The little boy said, sticking his bottom lip out in an adorable pout that would have worked on anyone. Well, anyone except Mycroft. "Please speak properly Sherlock." His older brother replied, reaching up the knock on the door with his right hand.  
>"But Myyyycroft!" Sherlock complained. Mycroft knelt down in front of Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his younger brother, "Just try and make friends." Mycroft whispered, before standing up and knocking on the green front door. Sherlock gulped quietly and threaded his hand into Mycroft's. The elder Holmes squeezed it lightly. Within a minute the door was opened by a shortish woman with light blonde frizzy hair and her daughter who looked around 9 and was wearing her hair in two long plaits.<p>

The short woman reached over to shake Mycroft's hand before gesturing that Sherlock should come inside. "Hello there. You must be Sherlock. I'm John's mum." she said quietly to the nervous looking boy. Sherlock held out his right hand and Mrs Watson shook it politely. "You have impeccable manners." She said kindly.  
>"Thank you." Sherlock replied, smoothing down his white shirt and nervously twisting his fingers into the hem. The six year old stepped into the hall and was about to pull off his shoes when a seven year old boy with short blonde hair came running down the hallway. "Hi Sherlock!" John yelled, reaching out his hand, "C'mon, we're playing footy and I need you on my team." Sherlock looked anxiously between Mycroft and John before the elder Holmes pushed Sherlock lightly towards John. "Okay." The curly haired boy replied, biting his lip nervously and taking John's hand. The shorter boy dragged his friend through the hallway and the kitchen into the spacious garden. A few boys were huddled around a goalpost and another was marking out some more posts with jumpers. "This is my friend Sherlock." John half-shouted to his friends. The tallest boy who looked older than the rest walked over to them and said, "That's a funny name." The gaggle of children around him laughed. "Good one Anderson." said a short girl with a frizzy afro and tanned skin.<br>"Don't be mean Sally." John said protectively, squeezing Sherlock's hand softly.  
>"Urgh! They're boys and they're holding hands! That's gay!" Sally replied, pointing at them.<br>"I'm not!" John answered indignantly, but keeping his hand firmly entwined with Sherlock's. The curly haired boy stayed silent. Mycroft had explained about sexuality to Sherlock when he was younger and that you had to respect everyone's choices. He glared angrily at the immature children. Anderson then grabbed Sally's arm and dragged her over to the goalposts with the other two boys trailing them. "So the teams are: Me, Sally, Sebastian and Greg against John, Molly, Jim and Sherlock." Anderson said proudly, pulling his team into a huddle. A smallish girl with long brown hair wandered over to Sherlock and John biting her lip nervously. "I don't want to get my dress muddy. It's new." She half-whispered to the two boys. Sherlock nodded politely and said, "It's very pretty. Just like you."

Molly broke into a huge grin that left her eyes sparkling with happiness. "Really?" She asked, self-doubt evident on her young face.  
>"Yes." Sherlock and John replied simultaneously, turning to grin at each other.<p>

"TIME WASTING!" Anderson yelled from the other side of the garden. The little huddle spread out and John shouted over to Jim, "You ready?"  
>The dark haired boy nodded and stuck his hands out, ready to defend the goals.<br>"We're team awesome!" Sally yelled over to the other team. John looked around at his teammates and then looked at Sherlock who yelled back, "We are team science!"  
>"Whatever you want freak!" Anderson called. John stormed over to Anderson and grabbed him in a headlock, "Don't be mean to Sherlock!" He exclaimed through gritted teeth. Anderson was quite strong and so he managed to escape from the headlock and wrestle John to the floor.<p>

Mrs Watson then chose that moment to intervene and pull the two grappling boys apart. "Clearly football wasn't a good idea." She mumbled to herself as the party goers trooped along behind her into the house.

3 hours and five pizzas later, Sally was crying, Anderson was sniffling, Sebastian and Jim were killing worms in the garden and John, Molly and Greg were all defending Sherlock.  
>"He didn't mean to make Sally cry mum."<br>"He said my dress is pretty and that means he is nice."  
>"They were being really mean to him."<p>

Sherlock was sat on an armchair with his hands pressed over his ears and his face pushed into his tucked up knees. He had his eyes open and was staring through the gap between his legs at the DVD shelf opposite him.

"I'm sorry." He said, quietly, looking up to meet Sally's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Mrs Watson sighed with relief and moved back into the kitchen yelling, "Who wants brownies?"


	33. Fan

**AN: Sorry for leaving this update for so long:L Thankyou all for reviewing:) **

**I'm not really feeling very 'into' writing Sherlock fanfiction at the moment so for a while, the updates are probably going to be really spaced out. I'll still be writing it but maybe not uploading as much because I'm really picky with what I upload on this story because I want to write the best that I can for you guys:)**

**Love, Erin :)**

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><p><em><strong>Prompted by: Merthurr<strong>_

_Fan _

Sherlock was lounging across the sofa in his usual dramatic way whilst John was in the kitchen, making himself a mug of tea. Sherlock's phone made an obscene noise and John whipped his head around, forgetting that his flat mate hadn't changed the text tone after Irene Adler had left. Sherlock stretched out one of his long arms and picked the phone up, flicking quickly through the new message.

"Lestrade has a case for us." He said , rolling off the sofa and pulling on his coat. John sighed and took a couple of quick gulps of his boiling hot tea before following Sherlock out of the door.

The two of them got into the next available taxi and drove down to the station, Sherlock staring out of the window mysteriously while John complained about the loss of his perfect mug of tea.

Sherlock gracefully exited the cab and strolled away towards the door. On the way in, Sherlock bumped into  
>Molly and said to her, "Watch where you're going." before stalling away. The woman went beetroot red, tears glinting in her eyes as she lowered her head and clutched her folder tighter in her arms. John hastily apologised to her as he walked past and gave her a comforting hug.<br>"Why are you here anyway Molly?" Sherlock said, strolling back down the corridor.  
>"Um.. I'm just giving some files to Greg.. I mean DI Lestrade.." She replied, smiling awkwardly at the tall man.<br>"Come on John." Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm and pulling him away speedily. The shorter man waved quickly to Molly before turning to Sherlock and pulling him to a stop.  
>"You need to be nicer to her." He insisted, "She did help you when you.. You know."<br>"When I faked my death." Sherlock said factually.  
>"Yeah.. That.." John answered, lowering his gaze.<br>"I'll try." Sherlock replied before setting off at a brisk walk down the hallway. The ex army doctor followed him quickly, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

They quickly arrived at Lestrade's office and Sherlock tapped impatiently on the door. Greg opened it for them and gestured them to come in. He handed Sherlock a few case files and flipped through them, pointing out important parts before leaving the consulting detective to read through them.  
>"They were all committed by the same person." Sherlock murmured, speaking his observation out loud.<br>"That's what is worrying us." Lestrade said gravely, "We think it may be Moriarty."  
>"So you believe in him now." Sherlock whispered bitterly.<br>Lestrade looked up in surprise, "Pardon?" He replied.  
>"Nothing." Sherlock said, meeting John's annoyed gaze and raising his eyebrows slighting as if to say 'I didn't do anything'.<br>"It can't be him. He's dead." John put in, looking up at Lestrade.  
>"I watched him shoot himself in the mouth. That's difficult to fake." Sherlock replied.<br>"So is jumping off a building, but you did that." Lestrade murmured bitterly.  
>"Pardon?" Sherlock said.<br>"Well, if you managed to fake that. How do we know Moriarty didn't do the same?" Lestrade replied bravely, meeting Sherlock's resolved gaze.  
>"I just know." The consulting detective answered stubbornly.<p>

* * *

><p>A week later Sherlock woke up and John wasn't in the flat. He hadn't left a note or texted Sherlock and he hadn't even taken his coat. As much as the consulting detective hated to admit it, he was worried. He was scared that John had been kidnapped again. Lestrade had seen this little seed of doubt in his mind about whether Moriarty really was dead. This seemed like the kind of thing he would do. He already did it once before. But Sherlock, being stubborn as ever, refused to go to the police. He texted and called John at least seven times but there was no reply. So, he pulled on his coat and jogged out of the flat, wondering where John could be hidden. He had been wandering around for about 45 minutes, checking all the abandoned places that he could get to when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He whipped it out and opened the text from John.<p>

'sherlock, i promise To you that i am okay. no need To do anything rash. One more thing, Buy milk please- john.'

Sherlock quickly scanned through the text but it didn't sound right. He read it again and then it clicked. John was in 221B. The tall man turned and ran back to the flat, desperately hoping that John was okay. He flung open the front door and jogged up the steps, stepping into the flat quietly. He saw John facing the window and reached forward to grab him. John turned and met Sherlock's eyes as a red dot appeared on his forehead. The taller man turned around slowly dreading what he would find.

Moriarty was leaning against the kitchen counter in a dark suit, hair slicked back and most definitely not dead. By his side stood Moran who had his gun trained on John's head.  
>"I heard you were back Sherlock and I couldn't resist visiting." Moriarty drawled, languidly, "You see. I follow all of your cases. I think you're really clever. Yes, very very clever for outsmarting me Sherlock. But you won't do it again. Oh no, I know everything about you. I've looked you up countless times online and I made sure that I know all of your weaknesses." Moriarty smiled in a sinister way, "I guess you could say.. I'm a fan.."<p> 


	34. Tears

**AN: hi everyone. Wow, okay I'm not going to lie.. I abandoned this story big time and I'm so sorry for that. I just lost interest and moved on to write other topics. I'm genuinely really sorry that I left this hanging and I never brought this to some kind of conclusion. You've all been so kind with your reviews and I appreciate them all. I feel like my writing has improved a lot and it's thanks to all the people who complimented me and reviewed because without you I might have given up. This collection of one shots was really fun to write and it challenged and stretched my writing abilities. This isn't necessarily the end, who knows, maybe I'll write some more Johnlock when series 3 comes out. But for now, consider this a good bye and a sincere thank you. I'll leave you with this rubbish and fairly short one shot which I wrote when I was feeling inspired. Thank you again - Erin **

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><p><em><strong>Prompt word: tears<strong>_

His skin is pale under the bright white moonlight that filters through the thin clouds, drenching the foggy London streets in light. Curls that are the colour of ravens wings bounce from his head, messily catching in the gentle wind, twisting and turning into a knotted clump. One of his hands is covered in blood, dark red and pulsing from the open wound on the soft, pale skin just below his elbow. The blood drips onto the floor, soaking into the cobblestones creating an imprint that will stain for a long time. His eyes are wide and bright, a strange combination of blue and green that draw you into them, dragging you in like an ocean does. Like a whole universe is hidden inside. A whole world.

Sherlock winces in pain as he brings his injured arm closer to his body, cradling the long limb with his other arm, his pupils completely dilated and staring wildly into the dark alleyway that he stumbles along. He's completely high, so utterly out of it that in his mind the whole world is painted green and all the buildings just keep on pulsing and moving and /changing/ every single time he blinks. Sherlock trips slightly but catches himself, making sure to stay standing and not fall onto his face.

"Let's get you home." comes a strong voice from behind him, a voice that is commanding but gentle. A voice that knows they are talking to a broken man. Mycroft Holmes steps out of the shadows, elegantly swinging his umbrella, his impeccable suit not even specked with any sort of grime. He takes a few steps closer to Sherlock and attempts to reach out for him but the other man moves out of the way, dropping his head quickly and clutching his loose T-shirt closer to himself.

"Wasting away isn't going to solve anything. Getting high isn't going to fix anything Sherlock." Mycroft says.

"John."

"John made his choice. Now, we must deal with what he did."

"He killed himself." Sherlock replies, an unusual amount of emotion colouring his tone, "He killed himself because of me."

"We don't know that." Mycroft answers sensibly, "Besides, this isn't what John would've wanted you to do, is it?"

"Mycroft. Tell me honestly.. Could I have dealt with Moriarty any differently?"

"No. I don't believe you could have done anything else." Mycroft replies, "Now, let me take you home."

"Okay." Sherlock answers, sagging forwards slightly, leaning on Mycroft's arm. "I'm sorry I'm a bad brother."

"Don't apologise."

The two of them stumble back across to Mycroft's car, shivering slightly in the wind. Sherlock sinks down onto the leather seat and Mycroft discreetly turns away his head as Sherlock rubs his eyes to stop the tears.


End file.
